Commander Tightpants
by Emerald-Latias
Summary: Sometimes a minor case of mistaken identity yields for interesting conversations. For the 2019 Successor Challenge.


Fair warning, I had severe block all challenge long so I apologize for the length and quality. Just really wanted something submitted. Thanks! :)

* * *

"I need stupid inspiration, Squall."

The staring contest he had with some crumpled-up paperwork abruptly ended with the sheets of marigold paper crowned the victor.

Then again, it was bound to be an inevitable loss the moment his girlfriend chose to loudly seat herself at the table while wearing her obscenely-lime green blanket as a makeshift cloak obscuring her entire upper body.

"…Why stupid?"

"Because it's either a stupidly-obvious idea I missed because it's right in front of me or it'll be one of those things that sounds stupid at first and then the more you think about it, the more you love the idea. Then you become super-motivated because you can't get it out of your head."

"Hate to inform you that I'm only good at shooting down ideas, not creating them."

"Don't _**I**_ know that all too well…" she commented, shooting him a knowing look from across the dining room table. "If you want, I can plop down to the floor for old time's sake. Who knows, maybe that'll spark a few extra bad ideas for you to shoot down."

"…Might work. Mind telling me what you need this for though?"

"It's…for something stupid, actually. Kind of hard to explain so I'll just have to show you something from a blog post for context."

Squall slid the papers he had back into the folder on the table and promptly stuffed it into the leather messenger bag he used for work. They were the only ones here in his relatively-soundproof room and the fact that Rinoa was opting to show him something on her banged-up phone that took forever to load anything was a sign that whatever she was about to ask about was going to warrant his undivided attention.

When an arm emerged from the blanket folds to slide the offending phone across the surface of the table, hitting him square in the abdomen, the lack of any button pressing beforehand struck a chord. This was pre-meditated.

He picked up the offending object and lightly pressed the power button to make the screen come to life.

Approximately five eternities later, he pressed the button again and set the phone down.

"I have an answer for you. It's not stupid though."

Without skipping a beat, she nodded. "I figured as much. Be gentle when you slide my phone back to me – it's really on its last leg now. Last toe, even."

Under other circumstances, he would have pointed out the hypocrisy considering she'd just sent it flying his way. Instead he picked it up again and walked over just enough so he could hand it back to her without so much as a snarky comment. When Rinoa looked up at him as she retook the phone with an expression he could only charitably call a poor man's poker face at best, he crouched down to her level to deliver the news.

"As much as I understand why you'd get the impression that this blog was written by Selphie under a pseudonym, it's not her. The date stamp on the entry is prior to her arrival at B-Garden."

The sorceress wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. No it is stupid. Stupidly obvious." she groaned. "Thank you for being my second set of eyes though. That saved me from staging an unnecessary intervention for _'Wimbly Donner_.' That silly pen name seemed so…very Selphie. I was almost sure of it."

"Wimbly Donner was an actual person. Left Garden a few months before Selphie transferred from Trabia."

"…Well, that's a plot twist." she deadpanned. A second later, the sorceress violently straightened her posture as if she'd sat on an invisible thumbtack. "Wait a minute…if this person wasn't there during the war then…who is the Commander Tightpants they're referring to in the last bit?"

"Wouldn't know. The role didn't exist then." he replied, rising out of his crouched position. "And for the record, my pants aren't that tight."

"If we were talking about the pair you wore religiously during the war, yeah sure. But your new fave so is, Mr. Tightpants." she playfully argued, lightly pinching the side of his leather pants for a second. "In fact, Selphie always delights in showing me all the ridiculous fanart of you that she found on the computer – I can say without a shadow of a doubt that the pants are definitely not helping the influx of questionable material. This is kind of like 99.9 percent of why I thought the blog I showed you was her."

"Does it bother you?"

The sorceress quirked an eyebrow. "Your pants?"

"No. The…whatever it is that Selphie shows you." he explained. "I wasn't aware people still did that."

"I was going to say. Considering I picked them out for you when you wouldn't splurge on a new pair when the other ones met their untimely demise, it would be kinda weird if I was." she replied, her expression softening a little. "As for the fanart, I pretty much have accepted that I can't really stop people from doing what they want. Selphie is more or less a good judge of what's in the harmless fun category so I'm ok when she shows me stuff when I visit. I'm not seeking it out for my own sanity though. Well, not that my phone could handle it anyway but that's besides the point."

"Alright. Just…making sure."

"Thank you." she said in a warm tone, the faint beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips. "To go on a completely random tangent though, you think I should just bite the bullet and finally get a new phone?"

Despite the cheery expression on her face, the question gave him pause.

By all accounts, she needed another phone as technology had rapidly flourished like wildfire since Adel's space tomb no longer caused radio wave interference and her cell struggled more and more to perform basic functions.

But this wasn't a question about the phone itself or practicality. Or even that much of a tangent for that matter.

While he had appreciated her efforts to locate leather pants that looked close enough like the pair he bought in a thrift shop at sixteen because it was mistakenly-priced at four gil, he would have been fine with anything that fit properly. If he was being honest, she had placed far more stock in the inherent symbolism than he ever had. The outfit that was damaged in ambush nearly a year ago were just clothes he happened to wear often because it was one less decision to make. That was it.

But for as much as he wasn't sentimental over inanimate objects like she was, even he could see that her phone was the last vestige of a time before nearly everyone had scattered to the four corners of the planet after the war. Before they were attacked for who they were and nearly lost everything in the fight. Before the massive sea change of everything, really.

"Might be time. I found some shops in Balamb that can transfer picture and contact data from old phones to a new one."

While the smile remained on her face, she gripped her blanket a little tighter.

"That would be nice. We could call Selphie and see if we can visit her when we do that. I'm sure she'd love to confirm that you still exist in real life and not just in fanart."

"Only if you don't ever mention the contents of that blog post to her. It may give her ideas."

The sorceress giggled. "I don't know, you seem awfully concerned for someone who doesn't even work at Garden in an official capacity anymore. I mean, wouldn't that not affect you at all?"

"I was more concerned over being called Commander Tightpants, actually. Being called Puberty Boy was bad enough. I don't think Selphie would ever let Commander Tightpants go ever."

"Don't worry, I promise not to say anything… intentionally."

The ex-commander tossed her a look.

For as much as things had changed, some things remained annoyingly-constant.

And for that he was thankful.


End file.
